


The Assignment

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beltane, Canon Divergence, Creature Fic, M/M, Post-War, Threesome - M/M/M, Vampire Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-01
Updated: 2009-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry agrees to help the Ministry acquire a potion only Draco Malfoy reportedly knows how to brew, his assignment results in not one but two difficult confrontations, and a few added surprises besides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing/Threesome: Harry/Draco, Severus/Draco, Harry/Severus/Draco (Ginny/Neville mentioned)  
> Warnings: EWE, Vampire!Severus, blood drinking (for sustenance, not as a sexual kink), flangst, brief non-explicit sexual scene, some AU elements and liberties taken with Vampire and Werewolf lore. Also, this story was written in present tense (as most of my more recent ones are). If this irks you, please just skip it.  
> Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.

When Harry steps off the crowded bus, the first thing he notices is how the small village is bustling with activity. Wagons are parked all over and in the nearby distance, he can see the many tents that have been set up in the bordering field; regular tents, not magical ones, because this is the Muggle part of the county.

For eight days and nights, people gather here every year to partake in the Beltane celebrations. People from all over Britain and possibly some other parts of the world as well.

When Harry thinks about it, this is really the perfect time and place for what he came down here for. A wizard won’t stand out in such an extravagant crowd, and any instances of accidental magic might easily be attributed to a lavish amount of liquor, or if all else fails, blamed on some Pagan god. Hermione told Harry about the old Muggle religions once. He’d never heard of them before; most likely, his aunt and uncle were as terrified of them as they were of his own magic.

Harry takes a deep breath, fishes a note out of his dull blue anorak’s left pocket, and studies the hastily scribbled address again; it’s the place where Draco Malfoy has been staying for the past five years, a nondescript house in a small Cornish village.

Though he has been aware of Malfoy’s whereabouts for a while, Harry hasn’t spoken to him since the war. Trying to get in touch seemed pointless. Malfoy left without a word, and his overall attitude made it painfully clear he wanted nothing more to do with those he left behind, Harry Potter in particular.

Sighing deeply, Harry shakes his head. In hindsight, it’s almost impossible to believe how many things he managed to accidentally mess up along the way.

Walking towards his destination, grateful for the map in his pocket in case he gets lost, his mind drifts towards that night many years ago, a few hours after he rescued Malfoy from the Fiendfyre.

  
* 

  
_The moment he catches sight of Malfoy’s tired, red-rimmed eyes studying him with blatant suspicion, Harry no longer understands what he’s even doing there._

_Mere minutes ago, it seemed like an excellent idea—the right thing to do—to head up to Malfoy’s room, knock at his door and ask how he was doing, but standing here now, Harry is wondering whether he may have fallen prey to a momentary lapse of reason and sanity._

_“Potter?” Malfoy says at last. His eyes are still filled with apprehension, but his tone is resigned, like the fight has completely gone out of him. Harry wouldn’t be terribly surprised if this actually were the case. Malfoy did just lose one of his best friends. Worse than that, he watched him perish, burn to death right in front of his eyes. Harry involuntarily shudders at the memory._

_“Potter?” Malfoy repeats, starting to sound somewhat irritated._

_“I…. er,” Harry stammers awkwardly. “Can I come in?”_

_Malfoy steps aside so Harry may pass. “If you must.”_

_Frowning, Harry walks into the room. He cannot comprehend why Malfoy is still being so curt with him, even after he saved the bloke’s life, risking his own in the process. Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t even be asking himself this question; after all, this is Malfoy; once an arrogant, ill-mannered prat…_

_“I guess I should thank you,” Malfoy then says, further adding to Harry’s confusion. He closes the door behind Harry and smiles a wry, crooked smile so very different from his usual condescending smirk. “For not letting me die like Vince”—he swallows hard; to stop himself from choking up, Harry imagines—“did. I suppose I owe you one now.”_

_Harry forces a smile of his own. He thinks he’s starting to understand; Malfoy isn’t being purposely curt or rude today. He’s deeply distressed, but too proud to allow himself to show it. “Nah,” Harry replies in a casual tone, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. “You don’t owe me a thing. This is what I do, remember? My strange habit of saving people. Can’t help myself. You probably oughtn’t encourage me by saying thanks, either.”_

_Malfoy frowns, then ventures, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain, “Pardon? Was that some kind of joke, Potter?”_

_“Um. Yeah.” Feeling foolish, Harry looks down at his trainers; they're worn and dusty. “Not a very good one, though. Sorry.” He glances back up at Malfoy, who’s now standing there with a small watery smile._

_Harry smiles back automatically, somewhat surprised by how quickly the atmosphere in the room seems to be changing. Then, of course, their relationship itself also changed rather significantly today. He vaguely wonders how he and Draco are supposed to act around one another now. It makes no sense to hate someone who saved your life; or for that matter, to save the life of someone you profess to hate._

_“That’s not really why you rescued me, though, is it?” Malfoy goes on to ask, taking a few steps closer to where Harry is standing. “I mean, all silliness aside…”_

_Harry slowly shakes his head._

_“Then what was the reason? I mean, not that I’m complaining, obviously, but… last time I checked, we hated each other’s guts.”_

_Harry sighs. “Did we? Honestly?”_

_Malfoy blinks. He looks exasperated and seems to be growing wearier by the second._

_“For one thing,” Harry continues, deciding that now that he’s started he may as well finish, “you weren’t very determined to hold onto your wand when I tried to take it from you, were you? I know from personal experience that you’re a lot stronger than that; you could have easily won that fight, but you didn’t even try. Then, secondly, you still haven’t given away my whereabouts, even though you’ve already had plenty of opportunity to send an owl or a Patronus or whatever, and even now…”_

_Malfoy gives him another blank look._

_“Even now, you’re not hostile towards me, not in the way I remember. It’s almost like we’re…”_

_“What?!” Malfoy snaps._

_“I don’t know,” Harry replies, unsure whether to be worried or relieved that Malfoy still has some fighting spirit left in him tonight. “I can’t really put my finger on it, but things just seem… different now; that’s all.”_

_“Different,” Malfoy parrots, sounding defensive and annoyed. “I see. In that case, I must apologise, Potter, for my inability to muster up a satisfactory amount of hostility at the moment, but I’m afraid one of my best friends died earlier today and I’m really rather tired. I suggest you come back in the morning. Maybe my reactions will be more to your liking then.” With that, he turns around and walks to one of the windows, where he remains, his back turned._

_For a few minutes, Harry stays rooted to the spot, shocked by the outburst. Only moments ago, they had been talking… not exactly amicably, but definitely in a way two people on the same wavelength might, but now…_

_Harry is about to turn around himself and hurry out of the room, when he notices that Malfoy’s shoulders are shaking ever so slightly. Harry gulps. He no longer wants to kick himself for being here. Instead, he’s overcome with a strong urge to bang his head against the wall for having handled this situation so abysmally. On days like these, he really wishes he weren’t so damned useless with people._

_Harry takes a deep breath and walks to the window. “Malfoy?” he says carefully, bracing himself for another explosion._

_There is no response._

_“Draco?”_

_Harry hears a sharp intake of breath before Malfoy slowly turns around. “Why are you still here, Potter?” he asks in a bitter tone._

_“I…” Harry bites his bottom lip. His heart sinks when he looks into the sad eyes in front of him. “I’m sorry. I’m going about this completely wrong. I only came to see how you were. Obviously, um, not well. I…“ Harry nods to himself. “Yeah, I should probably go now. I hope you’ll feel better in the morning.” He makes to turn around, but Malfoy’s trembling hand grabs his arm and stops him where he stands._

_Malfoy takes another deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.”_

_Surprised beyond words at the soft, hesitant declaration, Harry looks up. Malfoy’s hand is still resting on his arm, and it occurs to Harry how close the two of them are standing. He doesn’t know what drives him to do what he does next, except that it makes sense, as much sense as coming here tonight did when he first decided on it, but he silently closes the remaining distance between them and presses his lips to Malfoy’s._

_When Malfoy kisses him back immediately, gently but with an underlying desperation that almost steals Harry’s breath away, all Harry can think is that all this seems so unexpected and sudden, and yet, at the same time, he can’t help but feel that it’s been a long time coming. _

  
* 

  
Harry shakes his head, hoping to clear his mind, focus his thoughts on the present.

The night he spent with Malfoy all those years ago, is nothing but a bittersweet memory today. Bringing it up wouldn’t do anyone any good. It’d only emphasise the bitter, which was already bad enough at the time; waking up to a cold, empty spot next to him in bed and being told a little later at breakfast that Malfoy had returned home to his mother.

He’d just left without saying goodbye. 

He hadn’t even bothered to write a note; Harry pretty much turned Malfoy’s room inside out to make absolutely certain. Harry ended up having to lie to Hermione, too. He told her he was looking for evidence of Dark Magic.

She didn’t seem to believe him—of course not, it was a pretty pathetic story even by his standards—but to his immense relief, she didn’t press the issue for once.

Though sometimes, when he reflects on that day, he regrets she chose not to question him. Maybe, if she had, once she’d got over the shock that one of her best friends had slept with the bastard who’d caused them so much agony over the years, she might have been able to pinpoint the reasons for Malfoy’s departure, help Harry understand.

When Malfoy resurfaced a few weeks later, alone and forced to seek sanctuary at Hogwarts, Harry had already left for battle, and when, after another gruelling month, victory was declared and Harry finally stood face-to-face with the person he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, despite his better judgement, all Harry received upon their brief reunion was a curt nod and a formally spoken “Potter.”

Many times, Harry tried to corner Malfoy, to talk to him and hopefully find that ever-elusive explanation, but for some reason, Malfoy was always in the company of others. Even on the night of the victory celebrations, Malfoy remained at his parents’ table. Not once did he get up to mingle. He didn't spare Harry as much as a sideways glance.

That night was also the last time Harry laid eyes on him. Malfoy didn’t even attend Snape’s memorial service, which Harry thought odd at the time, as well as another display of revoltingly bad manners after everything Snape had risked to keep Malfoy safe; come to think of it, to keep all of them safe.

Harry sighs. He still doesn’t understand why things had to end the way they did, but speculating about them is pointless.

_No._ Harry shakes his head once more. He really needs to snap out of it. Draco isn’t even the reason he came here.

Harry requires a potion, or rather, the Ministry does, and they’ve requested Harry’s help, operating under the assumption that Draco Malfoy would be more likely to cooperate with him than with one of their Aurors. A fair enough point, Harry supposes, and since acquiring this potion is of utmost importance, he decided he couldn’t refuse.

For the past six months, the wizarding world has been combating a new threat: Werewolves getting up to all sorts. Rumour has it Fenrir Greyback has returned with a vengeance, though some people claim it’s not Greyback himself—last Harry heard, that vile beast was mauled beyond recognition in some Siberian forest anyway, but whoever it is has gathered an army of followers, and even some worshippers; regular people—wizards, witches and Muggles alike—who believe a Werewolf bite will make them something far better than human.

It’s an altogether nasty business which the Ministry is eager to put a stop to. They’re aware Draco Malfoy knows how to brew a potion that strips Werewolves of their powers, only for a short while but long enough to render them defenceless so they can be killed. They have this on file because one of their spies—Harry’s money is on Blaise Zabini— witnessed Draco Malfoy use that same potion on a Werewolf during the war. In self-defence, supposedly, but either way, the point is: Draco Malfoy possesses some knowledge the Ministry urgently needs.

Harry pauses and looks at the note again to double-check the address. Not that he needs to, technically. He knows it by heart and has done so for many years. 

Harry takes a deep breath, raises his hand to knock at the door, and isn't all this painfully familiar?

*******

It’s Draco Malfoy himself who answers the door, not the elf Harry was expecting. “Potter,” Malfoy says in a formal tone; he doesn’t look in any way affected much less disturbed by Harry standing on his doorstep. “Do come in.”

“Malfoy,” Harry replies automatically, and tries to hide his discomfort as he steps into the hallway. Malfoy hasn’t changed much, except for slightly longer hair and a healthier complexion, and the sight of him is harder to take than Harry anticipated. He can’t decide whether he’d rather kiss him or punch him in the face. Upon reflection, it’s probably a bit of both.

“Right, then,” Malfoy continues. “Let’s get you settled in first, shall we? Your room is the second one on the left once you reach the top of the stairs.”

“Okay,” Harry mutters. Still baffled by the absence of an elf, he follows Malfoy up the strange spindly staircase, and allows himself to be led into a spacious bedroom. Malfoy’s house is bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside, Harry realises, but by now he’s been part of the wizarding world long enough to not let this sort of thing surprise him any longer.

“I trust my guest room is to your satisfaction?” Malfoy says. “Behind that door”—he gestures to his left—“there’s a private bathroom as well.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, it’s fine.” Then, realising he sounds a little rude, he quickly adds, “Very nice. Thanks.”

“Right.”

The two men stand there for a moment, looking at each other in silence. Harry thinks he sees something akin to insecurity flit over Malfoy’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.

Malfoy speaks up again. “I’ll let you get settled in, then. If you need me, I’ll be in the living room. That’s the third door to the right from where you came in.”

Harry nods, thinking to himself the third door is what he must imprint into his memory, not Malfoy’s eyes, or the way the sunlight plays with Malfoy’s hair, making it look silver one minute and almost golden the next. Harry swallows and struggles to ignore the way his heart clenches. Once again he's overcome with the urge to ask that one question that has kept him awake for so many nights.

_’Why?’_

But it’s the one question he can’t ask. He mustn’t. The past isn’t why he came here, and furthermore… Perhaps, if he’s completely honest with himself, finding out the answer also scares him.

Oblivious to Harry’s discomfort, or purposely ignoring it, Malfoy continues, “Dinner will be served around seven. Penny, that would be my elf, popped out half an hour ago to buy some groceries. She needs to get them from the nearest wizarding grocer’s; the Muggles around here would probably have a heart attack the minute they laid eyes on her”—he grins at the thought, briefly, then his face is a mask of formal indifference once more—“so she may be a while. You do like lasagne, don’t you?”

Harry blinks. “Huh?”

“Lasagne,” Malfoy repeats slowly, drawing out every syllable. “Penny’s previous owners were Muggleborn, and from Italy originally. Thus, she makes the best lasagne in Britain, based on an authentic Tuscan recipe.”

“"Oh." Harry finds himself smiling; something about Malfoy tucking into Italian food is mildly amusing, as well as a lot more endearing than it should be. “Um, yeah. Sure. Lasagne sounds really good.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you later, then.”

Malfoy heads for the door, but pauses in the doorway and turns to face Harry again. “One more thing, though. Potter?”

“Yeah?” 

“The black door next to the stairs...”

Harry frowns.

“It leads to the cellar where my Potions lab is set up. I take it the Ministry informed you I’m conducting Potions research and also writing a book on the subject?”

Harry shakes his head. No one breathed a word about that. Then again, he didn’t exactly express an interest, either. He thought it would be less painful if he knew as little about Malfoy as possible. 

“Never mind,” Malfoy continues, waving a dismissive hand. “My point is, there’s always something brewing down there and that black door is kept shut for a very good reason; some of the more experimental potions are prone to explode at even the slightest draught or temperature change.”

Harry swallows. “Oh.”

“So, Potter, whatever you do, do not under any circumstances open that door!”

“No,” Harry replies, not certain how he feels about being so close to possible explosions… again. “I-I’Il be sure to stay out of the cellar.”

Malfoy gives a parting nod and heads back downstairs, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

*******

Despite the scrumptious food and the sweet _Chianti Classico_ he enjoyed that evening, a few hours later, Harry is still unable to catch a wink of sleep.

His mind keeps drifting back to how strange the dinner with Malfoy really was; the two of them only discussed the case and the specifics of the potion, nothing beyond that and nothing even remotely personal. Not that this made the meal unpleasant or in any way tense—actually, it turned out far better than Harry could have hoped—but nonetheless, something about the whole thing felt… _off_.

After an hour of tossing and turning that felt more like two, or three, or seven, Harry decides he’s had enough. Perhaps a glass of milk, or maybe even something stronger, might help him sleep.

He climbs out of bed, throws a bathrobe over his pyjamas and pads down to the kitchen.

Descending the stairs, he isn’t surprised to notice a strip of soft light seeping from beneath the door leading to the cellar. He assumes Malfoy must be a night owl, or maybe he just wants to brew the potion as quickly as possible so he may be rid of Harry again all the sooner.

Turning towards the kitchen, Harry grits his teeth at that last thought. He doesn’t exactly feel unwelcome here—quite the opposite, really—so he has no reason to presume his presence is unwanted, but of course one never knows what Malfoy is thinking or feeling.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Malfoy’s voice calls out.

Startled, Harry halts on the spot. Ridiculous? How is he being ridiculous? But, wait! How does Malfoy even…? Malfoy didn’t read his mind just now, did he? What the hell is going on?

Harry whips around to face the man he expects to be standing there, but is stunned to find the black door still closed. Is Malfoy talking to himself? _One of the first signs of insanity,_ Harry thinks with a wry smile.

“Ridiculous, Draco?” another voice at the other side of the door replies. Harry recognises it instantly and it makes his blood run cold, because it cannot possibly be _him_; this whole situation is making less and less sense by the second. Maybe this is just a strange dream; maybe those Mediterranean herbs didn’t agree with him, or… or something. “From where I was standing,” the voice continues, “the two of you appeared to be getting on like a house on fire.”

_No._ Harry shakes his head. _This is impossible._ With feet like lead, he slowly walks closer to the door.

“Look,” Malfoy says, sounding tired and exasperated, “his being here isn’t exactly my choice. What did you expect me to do? What did you want me to do? Refuse to help him? Treat him like crap, just like in the good old days? And if so, to achieve what, exactly? Certainly, I could have said ‘no,’ told him, and by extension the Ministry, to figure it out for themselves, but seriously, haven’t enough people already perished because a Malfoy couldn’t pick a side, or show some backbone, or…?” He sighs deeply.

Harry holds his breath.

“On the contrary,” the voice replies, something like bitter amusement in its tone. “I believe things have gone exactly as they were meant to. You are destined to be with Potter, Draco. Potter can offer you considerably more than I ever could; an actual future, for one thing. My life is…. You deserve far, far better than this.”

“No!” Malfoy yells, before inhaling sharply and lowering his voice again. “No. Not after everything I’ve been through, the lengths I had to go to, to finally get you to… I’m not leaving you again, you stubborn bastard, and nothing you may have to say on the subject will change my mind, not this time, so just….”

Malfoy falls silent then, and Harry shivers. He doesn’t understand a thing of what’s going on, and perhaps, for the sake of his own sanity, he would do well to leave well enough alone, to return to his room immediately and pretend he never heard a thing, chalk it up to the first night in a strange house and a confrontation that had him feeling out of sorts for weeks in advance, but even now, years after he left Hogwarts, Harry is still an inquisitive Gryffindor through and through, so he leans even closer to the door and, deciding that just hearing isn’t enough, risks a peek through the keyhole.

His heart leaps into his throat when he realises he wasn’t wrong about the owner of the second voice. Severus Snape is right there, large as life, in the middle of the room, two steps away from Malfoy and with an odd expression on his ever-pale face.

“I mean it, Severus,” Malfoy reiterates firmly. “If you want me gone, you’ll have to throw me out, though I imagine that may be somewhat difficult, seeing how this is my house, not yours.” The smirk that accompanies the statement is a little smug, but even from Harry’s vantage point, there is no mistaking the desperation in Malfoy’s eyes.

Snape shakes his head. “Insufferable brat,” he hisses, just loud enough for Harry to distinguish, and then he grabs Malfoy by the shoulders and kisses him passionately.

Harry gasps. Overcome with anger, as well as a sense of panic he can’t explain, he turns on his heel, runs up the stairs, almost tripping twice along the way, and throws his bedroom door shut behind him.

His head is reeling as he plops himself down on the bed, clenches his fists and loudly curses the day he first laid eyes on Draco _bloody_ Malfoy.

Sleep never comes that night.

*******

The following morning, Harry reluctantly shuffles into the kitchen.

Malfoy is sitting at the table, spooning out the flesh from half a grapefruit, while at the stove, Penny the elf is cooking eggs and bacon. “Mister Harry Potter,” she says with a crooked smile. “Pleasant morning be to Sir.”

“Hello,” Harry replies, and promptly forces a smile; there’s no reason to be unpleasant to her; it’s hardly her fault her master is a prize prat.

“Good morning, Potter,” the prat in question says. “If there’s anything in particular you fancy for breakfast, Penny will be only too happy to prepare it for you.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry snaps, earning himself a baffled look from Malfoy and a frightened, wide-eyed gaze from the elf.

Frowning, Malfoy puts down his spoon. “Had a bad night? I know those Muggles out there can be a bit boisterous with their strange festivities.”

Harry crosses his arms. It’s so bloody typical for Malfoy to feign innocence and ignorance and to lay all the blame upon the nearest Muggle. Some things never change.

“I half expect them to accidentally burn down the entire village one of these days,” Malfoy adds. “I’m surprised the authorities even allow all that nonsense.”

At those words, Harry’s temper finally gets the upper hand. “The people in the village have nothing to do with how I’m feeling, Malfoy,” he yells. “Severus Snape is supposed to be dead, and you… you’re… you’re shagging him!”

Gobsmacked, Draco opens and closes his mouth a few times, and by the time he finally manages a stammered “Er…,” Harry has already stormed out of the kitchen and is halfway up the stairs.

*******

Struggling to retain his calm and not unleash the surge of accidental magic that’s threatening to burst to the surface with the force of a violent tsunami and shatter all the windows in the house—or worse, Harry throws his belongings back into his small suitcase.

He needs to leave, right this instant. Coming here was a terrible mistake, and if he’s entirely honest with himself, he knew as much right from the very start. Draco Malfoy is the wrong sort; Harry has been aware of that fact since they were both eleven, so why did he ever doubt his initial judgement; all because of a stupid infatuation? Perhaps he should have realised much sooner that first impressions can sometimes be spot-on, too.

“Potter?”

Harry looks up to see Malfoy standing in the doorway, an uncertain, almost panicked expression on his face. Harry is tempted to remark that it’s rude to barge into a room without knocking, but soon decides it’s not worth the effort, and continues packing instead.

Malfoy, however, won’t allow himself to be ignored. “What are you doing, Potter?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Harry barks, throwing another jumper into his suitcase. “I’m going home. I’ve kept my promise to the Ministry, completed my lovely little assignment. I got you to agree to make that potion. I never said I’d deliver it to their doorstep, too, so when it’s ready, they can send one of their junior Aurors to come and collect it. My work here is done.”

For a minute, Malfoy looks like he’s about to squirm, and Harry would surely laugh at the sight if this whole sordid affair didn’t disgust him to his very core.

“Er, listen,” Malfoy begins, clearly nervous. “I don’t know what you think you heard or saw last night, but…. Severus Snape… It…. It isn’t what it might have looked like.”

Harry slams his suitcase down onto the ground with far more force than strictly necessary. “Oh? Isn’t it?”

Malfoy shakes his head.

“So the two of you haven’t built yourselves a secret little love-nest, you shamelessly pretending to be a recluse, supposedly full of remorse over your father’s war crimes and your own spinelessness when one simple action might have made a world of difference, and Snape…” Harry laughs without humour. “What he’s done really takes the cake, doesn’t it? No, what am I saying? It takes the whole sodding bakery!”

Harry inhales sharply, and blinks back the angry tears that are threatening to fall. “That bastard actually went and faked his own death. Do you have any idea, Malfoy, how horrible I felt when I realised that… everything he’d done, he’d only done it to keep me safe because he promised my mother, just before she….” Harry clenches his fists; _no_, he will not give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him cry. “I went to his funeral, for fuck’s sake! The Ministry gave him a monument, too, a life-size statue bang in the middle of wizarding London, and all the while,”—Harry’s voice wavers, but only briefly—“he was shacked up here with you.”

Again, Malfoy shakes his head, but Harry pays him no attention; he’s not quite done raging yet.

“You’ve reached a new low, Malfoy, and just when I didn’t think you could possibly sink any deeper.” Harry crosses his arms and throws Malfoy a venomous glare, challenging him to contradict even one word.

Malfoy takes a deep breath. “Like I said, Potter,” he says, his voice trembling. He has gone a shade paler than usual, too. “It’s really not what you think. Severus didn’t fake his own death, for one thing.”

“Yeah. Right.” Harry scoffs. “That was a ghost I saw, then, was it?”

“No,” Malfoy says simply, fast regaining his composure. “Not a ghost, Potter. A Vampire.”

Harry’s eyes widen. He was expecting a plethora of feeble excuses and scarcely plausible lies, but this…. “W-What?” he stammers, his anger instantly replaced by befuddlement.

“A Vampire,” Malfoy repeats calmly, in a tone so casual he might as well be commenting on the weather instead. “Creature of the night, cannot stand sunlight, recoils at the smell of garlic, you know the thing.”

Harry takes a deep breath before mumbling, “Sustain themselves by drinking blood.”

“Malfoy nods slowly. “That, too.”

“So, he…” Harry barely suppresses a shudder at the thought. “He feeds off you?”

Malfoy gives a sinister smile. “As in, bite my neck at regular intervals and drink his fill?”

Harry nods again, while part of him already regrets having asked the question. He’s not particularly fond of blood; he’s seen too much of it during the war.

“No,” Malfoy replies, “he does live off my blood, you’ve got that part right, he needs it to survive, but he draws it straight from the vein with a needle and then dilutes it with a formula so it lasts him longer and I don’t end up weakened, ill, or risk getting infected with Vampirism, myself.”

Malfoy seems to hesitate for a nanosecond, but then nods to himself and continues, “Actually, these past two years, Severus has been working on trying to perfect that formula. He hopes to create a type of artificial blood so he won’t need to rely on mine anymore, but so far, he hasn’t been very successful; human chemistry is a tricky business, it seems.”

Harry swallows and nods. All this talk about blood is making him increasingly uncomfortable and just a little bit queasy.

As if sensing Harry’s distress, Malfoy promptly changes the subject. “So, regarding that potion the Ministry needs… Knowing what you know now, about Severus’… _condition_, do you still consider it advisable to send an Auror to my home, and probably straight to my lab as well if he’s the inquisitive sort?”

Harry sighs deeply. He’s only too aware of what would happen if the Ministry discovered a Vampire on the premises. War hero or not, Severus Snape would be executed without trial, receive a wooden stake through the heart, like any other Vampire the Department comes across. Too much has happened in recent years, terrible things, for the Ministry to still show tolerance, much less compassion, towards Vampires, Werewolves and their ilk. And as for Malfoy…

Harbouring this kind of outlaw is a punishable offence. Malfoy would be looking at five years in Azkaban, at the very least.

Harry sighs again, and then mutters, “No, I-I suppose not. I-I guess I can stay until the potion’s ready.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy says, and to Harry’s astonishment, he sounds genuinely grateful for once.

*******

A little after midnight, Harry follows Malfoy down the stairs leading to the cellar. He hasn't the faintest idea yet what he’ll say to Snape when they are face-to-face again, but now that he’s aware of the man’s presence, a meeting seems inevitable, so Harry has decided he might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.

He walks into the lab, which smells just as odd as the Potions classroom back at Hogwarts used to, if not even stranger, and spots Snape stirring the contents of a large copper cauldron. Whatever it is the man is brewing—Harry assumes it must be the potion for the Ministry—the twisting and twirling clouds of smoke that emanate from the bubbling concoction have an ominous, purple glow.

“Ah, Potter,” Snape says, barely looking up from what he’s doing. “Decided to grace me with your presence at last.” To Harry’s annoyance, he doesn’t appear at all surprised to see him; it’s rather the opposite.

“Pro-“ Harry begins, but then shakes his head and quickly corrects himself. “Snape.”

“Indeed,” comes the curt response, before the man turns his attention to Malfoy and remarks with a smug almost-smile, “I warned you, didn’t I, Draco, that you wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret from him?”

Malfoy gives a wan smile in return. “Potter won’t tell anyone, though,” he says. To Harry, it almost sounds like an apology.

Snape gives Harry a pointed look. “Indeed?”

Unsettled by the dark eyes that still appear to possess the ability to look straight into his mind, if not his very soul, Harry nods. “You have my word.”

“Good,” Snape replies. He goes back to stirring the cauldron and when, after a few tense minutes, he realises Harry and Malfoy are still in the room with him, he pauses again to ask, “Was there something you wanted from me, Potter?”

Harry takes a deep breath. Many different things are swirling through his mind, questions and accusations of all sorts, but oddly enough, he's unable to voice even a single one of them. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no words come.

“Apparently not,” Snape says with a mild sneer. “In that case, I suggest you leave me to it. This is highly complicated work; it requires my absolute concentration and is best carried out without an audience.”

Malfoy is the one who speaks next. “Right. Of course. Come along, Potter.”

Harry blinks. “Yeah. Okay.” He casts another brief glance at Snape, who only has eyes for the large cauldron in front of him, and obediently trails after Malfoy.

Harry doesn’t understand why he was suddenly lost for words, or why the sight of Severus Snape unsettled him so. He can only assume it must be the shock. These past twenty-four hours have been anything but ordinary.

*******

Back in the kitchen, seated at the table and cradling a steaming cup of Earl Grey between his hands, Harry begins to feel more like himself again; so much so even, that he ventures to remark in a light-hearted tone, “So Snape's the one brewing the potion, is he, Malfoy? I should have known from the start; the claims of you doing it yourself were a bit suspect. You were good at school, but not _that_ good, I shouldn’t think.”

Malfoy smirks. “I’ll have you know, Potter, that I’m in fact quite capable of brewing the potion your precious Ministry needs. The reason Severus is doing it instead is because he’s more…”

“Skilled?” Harry offers with a grin.

“Experienced,” Malfoy counters. “Besides, lab work keeps him sane; he hasn’t been quite himself since…”

Malfoy clears his throat, and sensing the sudden tension in the room, Harry decides to swiftly change the subject. “How did you two…” he asks hesitantly. “I mean, the two of you, together, how did that ever come about?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “That’s a rather personal matter, isn’t it, Potter?”

“Of course,” Harry says quickly, hoping he hasn’t gone too far—if he’s to remain here for a few more days, he’d much rather do so in a pleasant atmosphere. "You don’t have to confide in me. I was just curious, that’s all… You know, once a nosy, meddling Gryffindor and all that.”

Malfoy shakes his head in amusement. “All right,” he says with a smile. “I suppose I might as well tell you the whole story.”

Harry smiles back. He wonders why things between him and Malfoy are suddenly completely different. It could be due to their shared secret about Snape, of course, or perhaps those proverbial wounds were never that deep to begin with; it was merely the memory of them that kept stinging so painfully.

“Back in the days when you and I were still students,” Malfoy begins. “Before the war had broken out… Not many people knew this—well, with the exception of Pansy Parkinson; she always managed to find out everything about me; crafty little wench—but for the longest time, I harboured a deep and altogether rather embarrassing crush on my Head of House.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

Malfoy frowns. “What? No mocking laughter? Not even a sarcastic remark? You disappoint me, Potter.”

Harry shakes his head, looks down at his cup, and mumbles, “I’d be one hell of a hypocrite if I made fun of you for that.”

“A hypocrite?” Malfoy’s frown deepens. “How so?”

“Back in third year,” Harry says, feeling very embarrassed; he has never told anyone about this before, not even Ginny. “I…”

“Yes?”

“Er, promise you won’t laugh?”

Malfoy shrugs. “All right.”

“I, um…” Harry takes a deep breath. “I thought Professor Lupin was pretty fit. That, and he’d been a friend of my parents too at one point, so I suppose you could say I sensed a kind of connection between us, and, um,”—Harry feels his cheeks flush as he gets to the next part—“I suppose you could say I also developed a bit of a crush.”

Malfoy grins. “I see.”

“Yeah.” Harry takes another deep breath and hopes his wretched blushing will ease up soon. “So if I laughed at you because you were infatuated with Snape, that’d definitely make me a hypocrite.”

“Quite. And incidentally, you’re right about that other thing, too…”

Harry doesn’t follow. “What other thing?”

“Lupin was pretty fit,” Malfoy says simply. “Always knew where to get the best chocolate, too.”

Harry can’t help but chuckle at that; yes, things between them are definitely very different now.

“So, anyway,” Malfoy continues, sounding serious again, “about Severus and myself…. Throughout the years, he did his utmost to look out for me, keep me safe from the consequences of whatever nastiness my father happened to be involved in at the time. He never treated me as anything more than a protégé, however, and the first time he ever showed an interest that went beyond that…”

Malfoy swallows audibly, taking a few seconds to regroup before he can continue speaking. “It was the night when Dumbledore….”

Harry’s throat seems to constrict at those words, so he only nods.

“The night Dumbledore died, the night I was supposed to”—Malfoy swallows again—“kill him, Severus showed up, unexpectedly, and carried out my task for me, and…”

Malfoy is rambling now; Harry wonders whether he thinks the words he’s saying will lose their impact if he rushes through them. They don’t, not by a long shot.

“He took me away, to this old house of his, Spinner’s End. I was… shattered, in a word, and he wasn’t at his best, either. We’d both had a horrible year. I was so frightened, and I suppose, he was, too, though he’d never have let on, not to me, or anyone else. Either way, that evening, we… I suppose you could say we both needed to feel alive again, or human, or…”

“So you slept with him,” Harry says, the raw jealousy in his tone surprising them both.

Averting his eyes, Malfoy nods. He’s feeling guilty or afraid, or possibly both.

“Sympathy shags really seem to be your thing, don’t they?” Harry remarks bitterly.

Malfoy looks up, and stares at Harry, wide-eyed. “That’s not… Oh, for heaven’s sake, Potter; it wasn’t like that!”

Harry crosses his arms. His tea is getting cold, but with this thick lump in his throat, he probably wouldn’t be able to drink it anyway. “Really?” he snaps. “Funny, because I could have sworn something rather similar happened between you and me. Incidentally, were you and Snape an item then or was he only a one-night-stand too, until you changed your mind a few years later?”

As soon as Harry has spoken the words, he already wishes he could take them back. Malfoy looks as white as a sheet, and the sight leaves Harry feeling more wretched than he has done in a very long time; so much for not spoiling the memory of that one wonderful night they spent together…

“No,” Malfoy reiterates then, surprising Harry by speaking at all. “Severus and I were not together when you and I… “ He smiles wryly. “You see, when we returned to Hogwarts and Severus was promptly appointed Headmaster, he decided that a romantic relationship between us would be too risky; it would be exactly the sort of thing both the Ministry and the Dark Lord might attempt to use to their advantage if they ever found out. So, to put it plainly, he broke up with me there and then.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbles.

“Which isn’t to say I didn’t try to change his mind on more than one occasion, but you know how pigheaded he can be. Or you don’t? Either way, I didn’t cheat on anyone when you and I… well, spent the night together.”

“Oh,” Harry says again.

Malfoy’s wry smile turns into an ugly sneer. “Anyway, Potter, on the topic of cheating, now that you mention it, weren’t you supposed to be dating the Weasele-pardon me, Arthur Weasley’s daughter at the time?”

Harry blinks. He wasn’t prepared for this accusation, but he supposes he should have expected it. Back in those days, everyone was convinced that Harry Potter would marry Ginny Weasley some day. _Everyone._ At one point, Harry even started to believe it himself.

“Er, technically,” he replies, jumping to his own defence, “Ginny and I were taking a break. We’d put the relationship on hold. Maybe we’d get back together after the war, but I didn’t make her any promises, or ask her to wait for me or anything like that.”

“No,” Malfoy says pointedly, “but on the other hand, you did string her along in some manner for almost a year. And what’s worse and so unlike the noble Gryffindor you were meant to be, in the end, you left it up to her to sever the ties completely, to her and to Neville Longbottom of all possible people.” He pauses a beat, then asks conversationally, “Still happy together, are they?”

“Yes,” Harry snaps, and fights the urge to slam his fist down on the table. Why, exactly, did he have to bring all this up? Why couldn’t he have kept his big mouth shut just this once? “They’re engaged now.”

“Are they?” Malfoy says. “That’s…. nice.”

“The wedding’s next summer, and after the honeymoon, Neville's planning to go into teaching. Hogwarts have offered him the position of Herbology Professor. Sprout’s retiring, you see. Nev’s bound to do a great job, I reckon.”

Harry doesn’t know why he’s telling Malfoy all that; he highly doubts Malfoy cares even the slightest about the people he once went to school with, especially people like Neville; Neville and Malfoy never got on.

“Probably,” Malfoy replies, but he no longer sounds like he’s paying attention.

And so the atmosphere in the room changes again….

Harry takes a sip of his tea. It’s gone cold and tastes appropriately bitter.

*******

When Harry enters the kitchen the next morning, after another sleepless night, the first thing he notices is the decidedly peculiar atmosphere that hangs over the room, an atmosphere he’s certain he’s partly responsible for.

With each passing day, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for Harry to hide the fact he still has feelings for Malfoy, and what’s even worse, sometimes when Malfoy looks at him, Harry gets the distinct impression that those feelings might be reciprocated, no matter how much snapping and bickering goes on at the same time.

Not that it would make any difference, of course, if Malfoy did fancy him back. Malfoy’s involved with Snape and Snape needs him, literally, to survive. Harry could never come between them, it’d make him almost as bad as his father back in the day, if not worse. It would be an atrocious thing to do, to steal from a man who has lost so much already.

Besides, there’s another reason, too, why he’s feeling so unsettled. The other day, Harry wasn’t entirely honest with Malfoy. Or rather, in some respects, he was, but he didn’t tell him the whole story.

Lupin wasn’t the only Hogwarts professor Harry used to have a crush on. Loath as he is to admit it, Severus Snape fascinated him as well, albeit on a completely different level.

Harry had started off hating the man, as he supposes he was meant to do, in order to make Snape’s position as a double agent considerably easier, but somewhere along the line, Harry grew to respect him, too, and when he’d learned of the man’s true role in the war and the promise he’d made to Harry’s mother, respect gradually turned into admiration and affection. That fact is becoming harder to suppress, too, no matter how ardently Harry tries to ignore it or smother it in anger.

Harry grits his teeth and curses inwardly. Why does he always get himself into these messes, anyway? Why can’t his life ever be simple?

“Ah, Potter,” Malfoy says, looking up from his mushroom omelette. “Glad to see you're up. I have to tell you something. I’m afraid it’s not terribly pleasant, but…”

Harry shuffles closer, takes the chair across from Malfoy’s and reluctantly sits down, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. “Yeah?”

“The potion,” Malfoy begins carefully, “and kindly do not jump down my throat for only informing you of this now; I kept quiet about it at Severus’ specific request; he feared you might not want to go through with this, if you knew of the risks involved...”

“Risks?” Harry blinks. “What are you on about? Is the potion dangerous?”

“The potion itself?” Malfoy shakes his head. “Hardly. However, it does require one ingredient that’s not so easily obtainable.”

Harry frowns.

“Fresh Werewolf blood,” Malfoy says matter-of-factly. “Five drops should do the trick.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “So you-you’re going after a Werewolf?” he blurts out, horrified. “Ruddy hell!”

“I’m not,” Malfoy says simply. “Severus is. Tonight, right after midnight, as soon as he’s fully awake.”

“B-But….” Harry’s head is reeling. He had no idea his mission would involve this kind of danger, and Malfoy was definitely right on that count; if Harry had known from the start how perilous this was, he would have told the Ministry to go and find someone else to do their dirty work for them. “But where would he even find one?” he manages feebly. “A Werewolf, I mean, at such short notice?”

“That part of it is quite simple, as it happens,” Malfoy replies. He seems completely unfazed. “Werewolves have been known to use the Beltane festivities in this village as a kind of… hunting ground, if you will. This particular clan has apparently discovered a way to transform without the aid of the full moon; something to do with Beltane magic, whatever that may be; I’m afraid I’m somewhat vague on the specifics.”

Harry shudders. “H-Hunting ground?”

“As you may know, most Werewolves are infertile, hence, in order for their species to survive, they need to turn ordinary people into their kind.”

Harry nods slowly. He knew about this already. Hermione mentioned it when Tonks was pregnant; Teddy was a highly unexpected, but most welcome ‘accident’. Fortunately, he also turned out not to have any Werewolf traits.

“In a nutshell: amidst the celebrations going on out there, the dancing, chanting and lest we forget, the liberal amount of readily available booze, I expect it’s not too hard to corner an unsuspecting Muggle, especially these days when, from what I’ve heard, there are actually Muggles around who are actively looking to get bitten; they believe it’s a way to a better life.” Malfoy shakes his head. “I never understood Muggles, you know, Potter.”

“Werewolves,” Harry mutters, as another shudder runs up and down his spine. “They're actually here. Under our very noses. Hiding in plain sight.” Then something occurs to him. “Does the Ministry know things have gone this far?”

Malfoy considers the question for a few moments. “I doubt it, and if they do, they’re not doing anything about it, at any rate.”

“What about the Muggle police?” Harry wonders aloud. His inner sense of justice finds it hard to believe that this sort of thing has been going on for what must be years, and no one is lifting a finger to stop it.

Malfoy shrugs. “Once a year, for over a week, this place is overrun with strangers; people from as far as America and Japan come here to celebrate. Many of them arrive alone, so if one of those lone travellers suddenly disappears… By the time the friends and relatives of that person, if there even are any, become worried and alert the authorities, the person is long gone, part of some clan or other.”

“Right,” Harry mumbles.

“It’s practically the perfect crime, really,” Malfoy says.

_Perfect, but revolting._ Harry nods. “So, um, Snape’s really going to…”

“Yes. He plans to attract the attention of one of them—as a Vampire, he can sense their kind easily and fortunately for us, the opposite isn’t true—and get the bastard alone, and then… I suppose I don’t have to draw you a picture.”

“No,” Harry says grimly. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. It doesn’t work. His gaze comes to rest on the large coffeepot standing in the middle of the table. He vaguely wonders where Penny is; probably out, running errands.

“Would you like some?” Malfoy asks.

“Huh? What?” Harry says.

“Coffee?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

Harry nods. “Sure. Thanks.”

He places both hands on the cup, warming them. They've gone cold without him realising.

Harry emits another deep sigh before lifting the cup to his lips. He tries not to think back on that horrible moment when he thought he saw Snape gasp out his final breath and decides that all this truly isn’t fair; do those parchment-pushers at the Ministry even know what they’re asking?

*******

“More coffee?” 

Harry shakes his head. “I’d better not. I’m jittery enough as it is.”

Malfoy gives a half-smile. “That makes two of us, Potter.”

Together, they've been sitting in the living room for almost four hours, anxiously anticipating Snape’s return. He left a few minutes after midnight, as planned, and both Harry and Malfoy have been on tenterhooks ever since.

Harry shakes his head, jumps up from his chair and, not for the first time that night, starts pacing. “We should have gone with him,” he says to no one in particular. “We should have never allowed him to venture out on his own.”

“He can handle himself, you know,” Malfoy points out. “And Werewolves are no match for Vampires, either. They’re animals, and not the brightest of the bunch. They rely on instincts, yes, but at the same time, they also lack true cunning; unless they’re of Greyback’s calibre, of course, but fortunately for us, the ones that are, are few and far between. The majority of them, in their non-human form, are like oversized killer dogs, obediently following the pack and blindly doing whatever their leaders want.”

“That may be so, but they’re also incredibly strong,” Harry points out, recalling some of his past confrontations with Fenrir, as well as that one time where they almost had to restrain Remus Lupin. “Brainpower doesn’t always outweigh brute force,” he adds; it’s something he heard Hermione say once, and it’s poignant enough to shut Malfoy up for a while.

Not another word is said while Harry returns to pacing up and down the room, and Malfoy taps his foot in a manner that verges on irritating.

Just as Harry is about to speak again, suggest they go out looking for Snape—do _something, anything_ for Merlin’s sake, because really, this is taking awfully long—they both hear a faint knocking sound.

Malfoy rushes out into the hallway, Harry following closely behind, and yanks the front door open. Severus Snape all but collapses into his arms, barely conscious and bleeding from a large gash on his face.

Unable to move, Harry can do nothing but stare. Over and over, two words keep racing through in his mind.

_Not again; not again; not again!_

“Potter?” Malfoy snaps, his face paler than Harry has ever seen it. “Help me get him downstairs, would you?”

“All right,” Harry mutters, forcing himself back into action. He steps closer and spots the vial tightly clutched in Snape’s right hand. “Looks like he found what we were looking for,” Harry mutters and then silently adds to himself, _Let’s hope it won’t be the death of him._

*******

Half an hour later, Harry is busy in the kitchen, casting Heating charms on another pile of blankets and towels. He assumes it’s perfectly normal for a Vampire to be as cold as death—they’re hardly warm-blooded creatures by nature—but nonetheless, something about the way Snape looks is most distressing.

Harry hopes the Werewolf didn’t bite him during the struggle that must have occurred; a Vampire/Werewolf hybrid, if such a thing even exits, would probably be pretty tough to handle. They might even end up needing to contact the Ministry for help, and that eventuality is really too daunting to consider.

At the sound of Malfoy’s fast approaching footsteps, Harry turns around. “Is he doing any better?”

Malfoy runs a hand through his tousled hair and sighs. “Not yet. He’s lost a lot of blood, so I gave him some of mine; made him drink it the traditional way.” Malfoy raises his arm so Harry can see the large cut that runs all the way from Malfoy’s wrist to his elbow. “At least he wasn’t too weak to suck it straight from the vein.”

Harry flinches, glad he didn’t have to witness that particular scene. “Is there anything else we can do for him?” he asks. “Does he need a potion or-or something?”

Malfoy shakes his head. “No. Keep him warm and let him sleep it off. My blood should sustain him until noon, at least. Vampires recover pretty quickly once they’ve fed. A rare perk of being undead, I suppose.”

Harry bites his lip. He smiles wanly at the person standing in front of him, and only then does he notice how Malfoy is a complete wreck, white as a sheet, with red, bloodshot eyes and very unsteady on his feet.

“Er,” Harry asks carefully, “is there anything I could get for you? You, um, you don’t seem well.”

“Tea would be good,” Malfoy replies, sounding as weak as he looks as he staggers towards a chair, “preferably piping hot, with lots of sugar.”

“Right.”

Silently, Harry makes the tea, pours two cups and adds a generous amount of sugar to both. He sits down across from Malfoy, takes his hand and says with a small smile, “I’m sorry.”

Malfoy blinks, confusion written all over on his face. “Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“Snape.” Harry swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “He’s lost so much already. He shouldn’t have to go through even more pain. Had I known beforehand, about the dangers involved to both of you, I would have told the Ministry to shove their assignment right up their big, fat… well, you get the idea.”

“I do. Which is precisely why we decided not to tell you, if you recall,” Malfoy replies, but his tone lacks the sarcasm that would have otherwise accompanied the statement. He silently studies Harry’s expression for a few moments, and then asks, sounding quite stunned as the realisation hits him, “You really care about Severus’ welfare, don’t you?”

Harry blushes, despite himself. Looking down at the table, he mumbles, “Yeah.”

Malfoy squeezes Harry’s hand, lifts his other hand to tilt up Harry’s chin, so that he’s gazing straight into Harry’s eyes. Then he leans closer and kisses him.

*******

 

A few hours later, Harry wakes up in Malfoy’s bed, alone. Recalling last night’s events, he lets out a solemn sigh and wonders wearily how he could have let things get this far… again. This really was a terrible idea, probably the worst he’s had since… well, the last time he slept with Draco Malfoy, basically, even though the consequences are bound to be far worse this time around; once Snape is fully recovered, he’ll surely…

Harry bolts up in bed. _Snape_.

Deciding to file what he and Malfoy did last night away for later analysis, Harry quickly gathers his clothes, picking them up one by one from where they landed on the floor, and heads into the bathroom.

After a quick, refreshing shower, he hurries down to the cellar, anxious to find out whether the news is good or bad.

When Harry silently opens the door, Malfoy is leaning over Snape’s motionless form and watching the unconscious—or sleeping; Harry has no way of knowing which—man intently.

Harry clears his throat to make his presence known. “H-How is he?”

“Better,” Malfoy replies, sounding relieved. “He’ll need more blood, though.”

Harry gulps. “M-More?”

Malfoy nods slowly; the prospect clearly doesn’t fill him with joy, either. “I hope I’ll be able to sustain him for another twenty-four hours. In his condition, he needs blood that’s fresh, warm and undiluted; no potion would be sufficient.”

“Maybe,” Harry begins hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“You could take some of mine, too?”

“Yours?” Malfoy frowns.

Harry shrugs, attempting to feign indifference even though the dread of having his blood drained leaves him feeling more than a little lightheaded. “Blood is blood, isn’t it? I don’t think the type matters to a Vampire, or does it?”

“No,” Malfoy says, smiling briefly at the question. “You’re right; blood is blood. There might, however, be another problem...”

“What?”

“When a Vampire drinks someone’s blood, especially in a moment of… how shall I put this…. great duress, a bond is created.”

“A bond?’

“An unbreakable magical connection.”

Not a clue what to say to that, Harry only blinks.

“Then again,” Malfoy continues, thinking aloud, “unless I’m very much mistaken, a bond of sorts already exists between you and Severus, doesn’t it? He’s been inside your head; yes, he told me about those Occlumency lessons.... He swore to your mother he’d protect you, just as he promised mine he’d look after me.”

Harry bites his lip and nods.

“Right, then,” Malfoy says. “Your blood, it is. We can take turns. That way we can help him without putting our own health at risk… I wouldn’t want to explain this to a Mediwizard, would you?”

Smiling wryly, Harry shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“And any magical consequences, should any crop up, can be dealt with later. Severus’ survival must be our primary concern.”

“Right,” Harry mumbles.

“Come on, then.” Malfoy takes the small scalpel from the bedside table. “I’m afraid this is going to sting a bit, but not for very long.”

“Okay.” Harry swallows hard and holds out his right arm, taking care to keep it as steady as possible. He averts his eyes when he feels the sharp blade pierce his skin, and he struggles not to look when his blood trickles into Snape’s mouth and not to listen to the sounds the man makes while he drinks it.

“There we are.” Harry hears Malfoy say a few minutes later. “All done. You’d better sit down now, Potter.”

Harry nods and feeling suddenly dizzy, he plops down onto the wooden chair next to the bed.

Malfoy walks to the lab to wash his hands before he returns to Harry. “Here,” he says. “Eat this; it’ll make you feel better.”

Harry accepts the chunky piece of chocolate. It’s delicious, with nuts and raisins. “Honeydukes?” he asks in between bites.

“Cadbury’s,” Draco replies with a smile. “A Muggle brand, no less. Who’d have thought Muggles were capable of making half-decent chocolate? Quite a shocking discovery for me, actually.”

Harry smiles. Malfoy was right; the chocolate does make him feel better.

“Anyway, Potter, I have some more work to do back in the lab. The vial of Werewolf blood Severus… retrieved, I have to add it to the mixture in the cauldron before it loses its potency. We wouldn't want to have to start all over again.”

“No.” Harry rises from his chair. “Right. I’ll go put the kettle on, then.”

Malfoy raises an amused eyebrow. “We have an elf for chores like that, you know.”

“I know. I just want to keep busy, make myself useful, and well…” He gestures in the direction of the lab. “I’ve never been any good at Potions; I’d only be in your way there.”

Malfoy smirks. “Oh dear. You’re actually beginning to sound sensible, Potter. That means I may need coffee rather than tea, because clearly, I’m hallucinating.”

Harry shakes his head. Without thinking, he kisses Draco on the cheek, and then heads for the kitchen.

Strong coffee, it is.

*******

Later that night, Snape needs to be fed again.

Harry stands in the doorway and watches Malfoy cut his own arm. It’s a chilling sight, no doubt about that, but at least there are no needles involved. As far as Harry’s concerned, needles are far worse than a scalpel; he has harboured a strong fear of them ever since he was a small child and his Uncle Vernon made him get every possible injection under the sun.

_“Vaccinations are free on the NHS and if the little freak doesn’t get sick, we won’t end up being stuck with him for longer than what’s strictly necessarily.” _

When it’s done, Draco rolls his sleeve back down and sits in the chair next to Severus' bed for a few moments, sipping from the sweet cranberry juice he placed on the bedside table earlier. If he happens to notice Harry’s aversion to blood, he’s considerate enough not to mention it this time either.

From his spot by the door, Harry can see Snape’s eyelids flutter ever so faintly. “Malfoy,” he says, sounding as anxious as he feels. “Look! Is he waking up?”

Malfoy studies Snape’s face for a moment. “No. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow, if we’re lucky.”

“Oh. B-But you said…”

Malfoy frowns. “What?”

“Vampires recover quickly?”

Malfoy nods. “They do, and he is healing as he should. He’s just lost more blood than I originally thought, so he’ll need a little more time. Perhaps he did encounter someone of Fenrir’s calibre.”

Harry shudders.

“Anyway,” Malfoy continues, slowly rising to his feet again. “I think I’ll call it a night. For the moment, there’s nothing we can do but wait, so I might as well try to get some sleep while I can.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles.

“You should probably do the same.”

“Yeah,” Harry says again. “I will.”

“Good night, then,” Malfoy says with a small smile, and saunters out of the room.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs; he can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or relieved Malfoy didn’t invite him to come up with him tonight.

*******

The next morning, a little after ten, while Draco is still in his room, catching up on some much-needed rest, Harry quietly wanders down to the cellar and into Snape’s dimly lit sleeping quarters.

Carefully, he steps closer to the bed. Snape still hasn’t woken up, and to Harry’s amazement, the man looks quite peaceful, this deep in slumber.

For a moment, Harry feels compelled to reach out and touch Snape’s face, just to check whether it’s as cold as he imagines it to be, but just in time, he refrains from doing so. That sort of gesture truly wouldn’t be appropriate; he needs to keep a polite and safe distance, for the sake of his own sanity if nothing else.

“No,” Snape suddenly says.

It takes all of Harry’s self-control not to gasp aloud in shock.

“No!” Snape says again, a little louder this time.

Harry holds his breath, hoping that doing so might help conceal his presence just that little bit longer, but he quickly exhales again once he realises that Snape still isn’t any closer to waking than he was last night; he’s merely talking in his sleep.

_Probably having a bad dream,_ Harry decides, and at that thought, his heart clenches painfully; Severus Snape definitely doesn’t deserve to be hurting like this.

*******

An hour after finishing their dinner—another delicious Italian dish whipped up by Penny—Harry and Malfoy head back to the cellar. It’s Harry’s turn to provide Snape with the necessary sustenance.

“Sorry,” Malfoy says once the man has drunk his fill. To Harry’s surprise, he sounds like he truly means it; there’s empathy, perhaps even affection, plainly reflected in those piercing grey eyes, and Harry doesn’t quite know what to make of that. “It’s not a pleasant sensation, I know,” Malfoy continues. “But with any luck, it was the last time.”

No sooner have those words been spoken or Severus stirs, slowly opens his eyes, and casts confused glances around the room.

“About time,” Draco says with a relieved grin. “Welcome back.”

*******

Harry and Malfoy are enjoying a sandwich lunch, when Snape barges into the kitchen and with one swift flick of his wand, closes all the blinds to block out the hazardous sunlight.

“You shouldn’t be up and about, Severus,” Draco remarks, frowning. “You ought to be resting after your ordeal. Not to mention, it’s the middle of the day...”

“I’ve done more than my share of resting for the moment, Draco, and have also wasted entirely too much valuable time in the process. We have a potion to finalise, do we not? I understand you have added the Werewolf blood I… _collected_, and to your credit, you did so quite adequately, but the brew must also be brought to the boil one final time, for precisely ten minutes; no more, no less.”

Draco nods slowly. “But are you certain you’re already feeling up to lab work? You’ve lost so much blood, and well, I could easily…”

“I am not a child, Draco,” Snape cuts him off. “I do not require coddling.”

“I never claimed you did,” Draco shoots back. “But I’m quite capable of finalising the potion myself; a little more faith in my capacities wouldn’t go amiss, you know, Severus.”

“Draco, you have little to no experience with this particular kind of potion, and no, those few lucky strikes during the war truly don’t count. What if something were to go wrong in the final stage of the brewing? Are you really that eager for me to have another confrontation with one of them if we have to start all over again?”

“Y-You still haven’t told us what happened,” Harry interjects, stopping the argument before it gets completely out of hand.

Snape blinks. “Happened, Potter?”

“How you were, er, attacked, by that Werewolf you’d set out to… um…” Harry hasn’t a clue how to finish that sentence, so he doesn’t, hoping instead that Snape will catch the general gist of it.

Snape rolls his eyes, and pulls up a chair. “It’s all rather simple, Potter. I managed to attract the Werewolf’s attention—he was easy enough to distinguish amongst the Muggles; they all are when you know what to look for—and I told him I wanted to hear more about the unrivalled enlightenment and superhuman strength one supposedly experiences after having been turned into one of their kind.”

Harry feels a shiver run up and down his spine. He nods once, hoping Snape and Malfoy won’t notice his unease; he does want to hear the full story.

“Everything went according to plan, until he pushed me into an alleyway and informed me he’d show me rather than simply explain what being a Werewolf entailed.” Snape shakes his head at the memory. “Before I could reach for my silver dagger, I was lying on the cobblestones, with a fully transformed Werewolf on top of me.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry blurts out.

“Quite,” Snape replies with a slight sneer. “Normally, the transformation from human into Werewolf form isn’t something that happens at the drop of a hat; it takes a fair number of minutes and from what I gather, it’s also rather painful. For this particular specimen, however, it seemed as easy as….” Snape snaps his fingers to make his point. “He was far more skilled and a lot stronger than I was prepared for. He managed to claw me numerous times before I finally succeeded in overpowering him.”

“You were clawed,” Harry ventures carefully, “not bitten.” Malfoy didn’t mention any bites, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there weren’t any. Keeping things from Harry Potter seems to be a common habit, even for Draco Malfoy; he’s proved as much these past few days.

“Not bitten, no,” Snape says. “Albeit not for lack of determination on his part.”

“What happened to the Werewolf?” Draco interjects.

“He’d seen too much, so I was forced to dispose of him. Afterwards, I burned his remains.” Snape smiles wryly. “My _Incendio_ went completely unnoticed amidst all these bonfires throughout the village.”

Harry and Malfoy both nod.

“Of course,” Snape continues, “first casting that spell and then making my way back here did rob me of the last of my remaining strength, but… all’s well that ends well, as the cliché-ridden turn of phrase goes.”

Harry and Draco remain silent, each mulling over the words in their respective minds, and dreading the topic they know will be touched upon next; the hardest part of this conversation is about to begin.

“Though I have to say,” Snape remarks, a little too offhandedly, “all things considered, I did heal rather quickly, Draco, from your blood alone.”

Malfoy awkwardly clears his throat. “About that, you should probably know…”

“You had me drink Potter’s blood, too, didn’t you?” Snape says, half smirking, half sneering. “Just as I thought. You do realise what this means, don’t you? Stupid boy! Do you have any idea how irresponsible you’ve been?”

“He was only trying to help,” Harry cuts in. “A-And so was I. I didn’t want to watch you die…”

“A second time?” Snape offers, definitely sneering now.

“Yes,” Harry yells, his heart sinking. Confused and angry, he looks at Snape, gazing into those dark eyes that always seem to look straight through him. Then he adds in a much softer tone, “The first one was bad enough.”

“I’d apologise for the deception, Potter,” Snape retorts dryly, “if it weren’t for the fact that it hasn’t left me feeling particularly remorseful. There was no life for me to return to. As a former spy, I’d made too many enemies, and my prospects of a happy future were even further diminished by the fact that I’d become…”

“A Vampire,” Harry mutters.

“Indeed.”

“They hunt his kind, you know,” Draco says. “A special branch of the Auror Department; it was set up right after the war. They seek to eliminate every Vampire and Werewolf they can find, no exceptions.”

“I know,” Harry mutters, and swallows hard. “I do know.”

“Of course he knows, Draco,” Snape interjects bitterly, “though perhaps we should be grateful he doesn’t share his employer’s views.”

“They’re not,” Harry blurts out. “My employers, I mean. I don’t work for them. They did ask me to join them, back in the day. They even offered me Auror training despite my shoddy eyesight, but I’d had enough of Dark wizards and war and…” Harry forces a wan smile.

Draco frowns. “So this assignment…?”

“Kingsley asked me to do it,” Harry explains, “as a favour. He thought you might be… more inclined to agree if I was the one who approached you.”

“And why would Shacklebolt even presume such a thing?” Draco’s voice is all suspicion. Snape doesn’t look too pleased, either.

Harry shrugs. “I saved you from that fire, your mother helped me in my final confrontation with Voldemort, and I…” Harry nervously wrings his hands; so many secrets seem to be surfacing all at once. “I also testified on your behalf, sort of.”

Draco frowns. “You testified? How? Where? When?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “For a while after the war, your family remained under investigation. Some people were adamant to have you all put away. Your father…”

“Was already back behind bars,” Draco finishes grimly.

Harry nods. “But you and your mother. I managed to convince the Department to stop digging.”

Malfoy crosses his arms. “May I ask why?”

Harry hesitates a beat before speaking. “It didn’t seem fair, after everything, the way you were being hounded… I mean, throughout that whole sordid business, the war and the years leading up to it, you were as much of a pawn as I was.”

The small smile Draco gives in response leaves Harry feeling much lighter, and also brave enough to turn to Snape and ask, “When did you become… um, infected?”

Snape raises an eyebrow. “Infected?” 

“With Vampirism,” Harry blurts out.

“Ah.” Snape looks almost amused at Harry’s awkward wording, or is it more his curiosity? “On a night a few months before… Draco and myself… fled the premises, I was out in the Forbidden Forest, gathering ingredients for a tonic Madame Pomfrey needed. I wasn’t expecting to encounter a Vampire that close to Hogwarts, but perhaps I should have known better. Those were bizarre and dangerous times, after all.”

Harry only nods.

“Alas, I was not prepared for such a threat, and never even saw the attack coming. Fortunately, I did know how to handle the ensuing… condition, as you call it, even if acquiring the necessary sustenance was something of a challenge at times.”

Harry blinks. Part of him is eager to learn more, but at the same time, the thought of hearing about Snape’s feeding habits turns his stomach.

“I’ll spare you the grotty details, Potter,” Snape continues. “Suffice it to say: amidst the ruckus, the Dark Lord never noticed how a few of his low-ranked followers vanished without a trace.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, growing pale.

“Don’t look at me like that, Potter,” Snape says. “They were easily the worst of the bunch; they murdered, pillaged and raped everywhere they went. The world suffered no great loss when I ended their despicable lives.”

“And the Vampire who did this to you?” Harry asks. “What became of him?”

“I never saw him again,” comes the curt response. “I assume he fled, too. He probably sensed the approaching battle, and sought safer pastures.” Snape pauses for a moment and then adds, “Contrary to what your friends at the Ministry believe, most Vampires seek only to survive; they have no interest in waging war against anyone.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you, though,” Harry mutters, for want of something more eloquent.

“Don’t be,” Snape says. “My changed circumstances put me at quite an advantage.”

Harry frowns.

“Had I not already been dead, Potter, Nagini’s venom would surely have killed me. Ironically enough, I owe that Vampire my life.”

“Oh.” Harry casts a weary glance at the pale man sitting across from him. Not another word is spoken for a long time.

*******

Despite Malfoy’s initial protests, he and Snape spend the rest of the day and the main part of the night in the lab.

Harry doesn’t know what they’re doing in there, but he’s certain they’re not merely working on that potion; it only needed to boil one more time and just for ten minutes; Snape said so himself.

On the other hand, Harry isn’t particularly keen to find out what they’re getting up to, either. He may not like what he discovers, and it’s none of his business to begin with, really. Besides, if he were to join them, he’d probably just get in their way, or worse, in that ever-clumsy manner of his, break something of value.

So he passes the afternoon reading a Muggle mystery novel Hermione gave him for Christmas, and after a solitary dinner, he retires to his guestroom.

Alone in bed, he wonders what will happen once the potion is ready. No doubt he’ll be expected to return to London, were he’ll promptly go back to filling his days by idly sitting around his flat, the one he bought when the Burrow started to feel overcrowded.

Upon his return, people will once again enquire—or at least the ones who still bother to call on him once every blue moon will—how the renovations at number 12, Grimmauld Place are coming along, and as always, Harry will grit his teeth, force a smile and reply, “Fine. A bit slower than I’d like, but you know how those builders are…”

He never tells them he’d rather have the whole damned place demolished, for such is the extent of the dread he experiences whenever he imagines living there. To Harry, the old house symbolises a painful past, the loved ones he lost, one after the other, and more suffering than anyone should have to witness in a lifetime.

Harry sighs deeply. He probably won’t be able to get much sleep tonight, and isn’t it funny, too, he wonders, how the first night in ages where he did manage to rest, was the one he spent in Draco Malfoy’s arms?

Harry shakes his head and tries not to think about that.

He tries not to think at all.

When sleep finally comes, around 3 a.m., it lasts all of four hours and is anything but restful.

*******

His throat as dry as sandpaper, Harry sits up in bed. Noticing the water pitcher on the bedside table is empty, he throws on his bathrobe and heads down to the kitchen.

Passing the cellar door, he can hear Malfoy and Snape, who seem to be in the middle of a rather animated discussion. Harry shakes his head, fully intending to continue on to the kitchen and not catch a word of what they’re talking about, but when he hears his own name mentioned—loudly, he stops dead in his tracks.

“It has always been Potter, Draco.” Despite his raised voice, Snape sounds tired and resigned.

“No,” Malfoy yells. “We both know that’s not true. I’ve admired you for… for years! And I feel like I’ve loved you my entire life; you can’t seriously believe…”

“But at the same time, you also feel drawn to Potter, Draco, and have done so for quite a while, perhaps long before you even realised it yourself.” Snape sighs. “And a few nights ago, you certainly didn’t hesitate either, when fate presented you with another opportunity to bed him.”

“It-It wasn’t like that!” Malfoy is quick to protest. “We were both…” He lets out a hollow laugh, before continuing, “But by Merlin, I’m surprised how you suddenly object, Severus! When you first learned Potter would be coming here, you acted as though you wanted nothing more than to push me straight into his arms, and now… you seem almost jealous!”

“Jealous? No, Draco. Rather the opposite. As I said before, Potter would be a far better match for you than I could ever hope to be, but for some reason, you keep refusing to believe that.”

“And as I said before, Severus, I’m not leaving you, regardless of any feelings I may or may not have for Potter.” Malfoy emits a deep, exasperated sigh. “Actually, if you ask me, Potter is rather fond of you as well.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape says, and makes a sound that’s either a snort or a cough; Harry can’t be sure from where he’s standing.

“He was very worried about you when you were injured. I suspect he… It’s just an impression I got, of course, but nonetheless….”

“What?! Spit it out, Draco, for Salazar’s sake!”

“Very well. I suspect Potter fancies you, too.”

Harry is unable to see Snape roll his eyes at that, but he has no doubt in his mind that the man is doing precisely that. “Don’t be so damned naïve, Draco! You gave me Potter’s blood, didn’t you? So if he now acts like he fancies me, heavens forbid, it’s because you created an inappropriate bond between us.”

“No,” Draco says firmly. “I didn’t. The two of you were already connected before any of this began, and I’m convinced that in his own way, he cares a great deal about you.”

“He hates me, Draco,” Snape says. “He did from the very start, and that’s how things were meant to be. It was for his own good.”

For a long moment, Malfoy is silent. Then he asks, “Do you hate him, Severus?”

Snape sighs. “No,” he replies, sounding… almost remorseful, in so far as Harry can tell. “I may have disliked him for a long time because he reminded me so damned much of his father at that age; that part of it made my behaviour towards him, the pretence that needed to be kept up, considerably easier, but hate…. How could I ever truly hate him, Draco? He’s Lily’s son, too. “

Harry’s breath hitches at those words, and at the other side of the door, Snape clears his throat, obviously embarrassed at what he just admitted. “And now we’ve cleared that up, Draco, perhaps it’s time to get some sleep; I think we’re done working for today.”

“Yes,” Draco says. “I could do with a shower as well.”

“I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“You mean…” Malfoy hesitates. “You don’t want me to stay? Sleep here?”

“Not tonight,” Snape says. “You need your rest. We both do….”

“But…” Malfoy begins, but then abruptly changes his tone; he, too, sounds incredibly tired. “All right. Sleep well.”

At the sound of Malfoy’s footsteps approaching the door, Harry hurries up the stairs as quietly as he can, and silently shuts the bedroom door behind him.

His head is reeling. He has a lot of thinking to do.

*******

Mid-morning, Harry once again ventures downstairs.

As far as he can tell, he’s the only one already up and about, but it’s hardly surprising that Malfoy has decided to sleep in today. Besides, it’ll make what Harry is planning to do a little bit easier.

Harry gulps down a cup of foul-tasting instant coffee, vaguely wondering where Penny is, and nods to himself.

Determined, he heads down to the cellar and knocks at the door of Snape’s bedroom. It briefly occurs to Harry that Malfoy might be there, too, but he hopes such isn’t the case. He needs to speak to Snape alone, and then maybe later, depending on the outcome, he’ll discuss it with Malfoy, too.

“Yes!” Snape yells.

Harry takes a deep, steadying breath before he enters the room.

Snape is sitting up in bed, and doesn’t look too pleased when he catches sight of his visitor. “Potter,” he says, crossing his arms. “I trust you have an extremely good reason for waking me?”

“Yes, I do,” Harry says firmly, sounding far braver than he feels.

Snape raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Very well, then. What is that you want?”

Harry takes another deep breath. He has been thinking about this for the last couple of hours, looking at it from every possible angle, and his mind is made up; he has to tell Snape how he feels. He has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, and he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try. “I overheard you and Malfoy talking this morning,” he begins carefully. “About me.”

“I’m already aware of that, Potter,” Snape replies, unfazed. “While Draco and myself were speaking, in the nearby distance, I could hear your heart beating quite clearly.”

Completely taken aback, Harry blinks. “Y-You could hear my heartbeat?”

“Yes,” he replies simply. “It’s one of the perks and annoyances of my current state, I fear. When I’m really hungry, I can even hear the blood pumping through people’s veins.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbles. “R-Right.”

“So, Potter,” Snape continues, a vague smile playing around his lips, “I shall now ask you again; what is it that you want?”

Everything Harry had planned to say earlier, all those carefully chosen words to express his feelings and hopes, he can’t remember a single syllable of what he wanted to convey. All he can do instead is awkwardly blurt out, “Malfoy was right. Earlier on, I mean. I do fancy you both.”

Snape’s eyes widen in either mockery or surprise; it’s impossible for Harry to determine which.

“And I was hoping we could, er I mean, I…” Harry feels himself blush. This isn’t going at all as he hoped it would. This isn’t how he rehearsed it in front of the bathroom mirror. _Bugger!_ He swallows hard. “Anyway, I just thought you should know… I, um, I’m sorry I disturbed your rest.”

At that, Harry turns around, and embarrassed beyond words, starts heading for the door. _Bloody hell_, this is even worse than all those times he made a complete fool of himself during those Occlumency lessons combined.

Just as Harry places his hand on the doorknob, ready to flee to the relative safety of his room, Snape speaks again.

“Potter?”

Hesitantly, Harry turns around. “Yes?”

“Careful what you wish for,” Snape says. “You may just get it.”

Harry blinks. Not daring to utter another word, he exits the cellar as fast as he can, but slow enough to avoid looking even more ridiculous.

*******

Harry spends the day in his room, not bothering to head down for lunch or dinner.

If Hermione were here, undoubtedly she’d accuse him of sulking and point out, in a blow-by-blow account, all the things he messed up since he first arrived here. Fortunately for him, though, Hermione is miles away.

Harry smiles wryly. He has no idea what Malfoy and Snape are up to, neither of them has so far made the effort to come up to check on him, but Harry assumes they must be somewhat amused by what happened between him and Snape earlier, an event, he’s quite certain, that has already been discussed at great length and not without some accompanying laughter.

Harry sighs. Well, whatever happens next, he supposes it doesn’t really matter all that much. Soon the potion will be ready, and then Harry can return to London, after which he’ll never have to see Malfoy or Snape again.

Once upon a long ago, that might have seemed like a wonderful prospect—too good to be true—but now….

Harry shakes his head. A quick _Tempus_ learns him it’s is a few minutes after midnight, and then a voice in his head that reminds him far too much of Hermione’s points out to him that he really can’t keep postponing the inevitable; sooner or later, he’ll have to talk to Malfoy again, and to Snape as well.

“Might as well make it sooner,” Harry mumbles to himself. “High time to get this over with.”

*******

“Ah, Potter,” Snape says when Harry shuffles into the lab. “Excellent timing! The potion is all ready for delivery; brewed to perfection, even if I do say so myself.”

“So you can return to London tomorrow,” Malfoy adds matter-of-factly. “Give the Ministry what they sent you down here for, and get on with your life.”

Harry’s heart drops. “Oh,” he mutters. “Right.”

“You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic about that,” Malfoy remarks. There's a bizarre edge to his tone; it fills Harry with a hint of hope.

“Yeah, well,” Harry replies with a small smile, trying to make a joke of it. “There isn’t a whole lot there for me to go back to anymore, so if you two don’t mind, I think I’ll skip the cartwheels.”

“There is nothing for you here, either, Potter,” Snape cuts in. “Merely pointless distractions and dangerous delusions.”

“What I feel for Draco is no delusion,” Harry snaps, his awkwardness instantly turning to rage; funny how, even after all these years, Snape still has that effect on him. “And what I feel for you, what I…”

“What you think you feel for me,” Snape interrupts brusquely, “is merely an inconvenient consequence of the bond Draco inadvertently created between us when he made me drink your blood. What you’re experiencing is nothing more than a side-effect of an unbreakable magical connection. That’s the bad news, Potter. The good news, however, is that I’m certain this link, even though unbreakable, can in fact be weakened by distance.”

“No,” Harry says, and with Malfoy as his stunned, speechless witness, he strides up to Snape, roughly grabs him by the sleeves and kisses him for all he’s worth.

*******

If Harry were to stop and think about what’s happening, there would be only one obvious, irrefutable conclusion; he has finally taken leave of his senses.

But the fact of the matter is, he cannot think; not now. All he can do is feel, lost as he is in a daze of kisses and caresses.

He can’t remember when his clothes disappeared, or how, but he is very much aware of Malfoy moving inside of him, slowly, teasingly and soon faster and harder and _’yes, more!’_

Through lidded eyes, he can see Severus sitting in a chair a few feet away, watching and shamelessly rubbing himself through his robes.

This seems like a scene from a strange, surreal and incredibly wonderful dream, but no good dream has ever been this vivid.

“Let go,” someone whispers in a voice so husky it can’t possibly be Malfoy’s.

But it is. Harry knows it too well by now to harbour any doubt.

“Harry, let go.”

One more thrust, and then Harry closes his eyes, and does.

*******

At dawn, the Beltane fires still smoulder, but the travellers have already returned home. There isn’t a soul about in the village, apart from the two men who are strolling side by side, both of them in good spirits, happy to be in the other’s company.

“Looks like we missed it,” Harry remarks. “The celebrations.”

“I believe we had more pressing matters to attend to,” Draco says with a small smile. “No matter; there’s always next year if you’re still keen by then.”

Harry pauses for a moment. He looks up at the sky and reaches for Draco’s hand. “Do you reckon Snape is all right with us… I mean, now that we’ve...?”

“Yes,” Draco replies, coming to a halt and turning to face Harry completely. “I’m certain this new arrangement will make him happy. I only hope it’s also what you want, being in a relationship with both of us, and living out here, in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not just what I want,” Harry says sincerely. “I think it’s exactly what I need, too. New beginnings and all that.”

“You won’t miss London at all?”

“No,” Harry says without hesitation. “London is… To me it mostly represents the past. Everything I care about now is right here.

“Good,” Draco says. “Very good, because now that I finally have you, I fully intend to keep you as well.”

Smiling, Harry leans closer, wraps his arms around Malfoy's waist, and kisses him. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, you do realise we still have some more unfinished business here too, don’t you?”

“Unfinished business?” Malfoy frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. I thought you’d Owled the potion to Kingsley before we went out?”

“I wasn’t talking about the potion,” Harry explains. “Werewolves come to these Beltane celebrations every year to feast on Muggles, you said…”

Malfoy nods slowly.

“So, by the time they return next year, we’ll be ready for them. They won’t harm another person in this village ever again.”

“What?” Malfoy’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. “Good Lord, you’re being serious, aren’t you? Next year, you’re actually going to try to stop those Werewolves…”

Harry nods. “Someone has to, Draco.”

“But I thought you said you’d had enough of fighting.”

“I did,” he replies, “and I do, but on the other hand, I can’t just sit around and do nothing while innocent people are slaughtered…” He makes a vague hand gesture, and then shrugs. “I just can’t.”

Malfoy shakes his head. “Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor,” he says, but his tone is free of malice and mockery.

“So, what do you think?” Harry goes on to ask. “Do you suppose, next year, we could…”

Malfoy remains silent for a moment, pondering on the possibility and the risks it involves, and then says. “Oh, very well, Potter. We’ll see if we can do something about the Werewolves, and maybe Severus would be willing to help, too…”

Harry blinks. “Really?”

Malfoy nods. “To be quite frank, I was never very happy with that scum tainting my village to begin with.”

Harry raises an amused eyebrow. “Your village now, is it, Malfoy?”

Draco smirks. “You know what I mean.”

“Pompous prat,” Harry says with a grin.

“Insufferable goody-two-shoes,” Malfoy retorts, unable to conceal a grin of his own while he takes Harry’s hand again. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”

Harry nods and silently follows Draco back to the house.

In the sky above them, the sun rises higher, slowly chasing away the final remnants of fog.

It’s a brand new day, and so far, it’s shaping up rather nicely.

*


End file.
